• Mature • Angels Run When A Bad Man Goes To War

[Vakhanor]

18 Ashan, Cycle 717

At the heart of the organisation of tradesmen, Vakhanor laboured among men and women ready to fight against the nobles and the laws they enforced on the common people, and their wars power that destroyed their homes and killed their loved ones. As a smith and a man that had lost someone very dear to him, Vakhanor had been one of the first to be invited to join the Alliance as a core member and a smith. Originally the Aukari paid no interest to the cause, Anarchy was a driving cause to the smith and whatever uprising he could support in the most minimal way, he agreed to join on the condition they would not attempt anything that would reveal who he was.

Alone and shrouded in the darkness of his leathers, Vakhanor was going through the resources the group had gathered to create the weaponry they had asked him to create for them when one of the founders approached him "Demon, good news. Your chains have finally come to use," the man said, approaching with caution. Vakh hated that nickname.

"Who?" the low boom of Vakhanor's voice responded as he rose, starring down at the small, grubbily garbed old man.

Gilwyn was his name, a pastor from the church of Ashan. A cunning old man, driven by the cause of gods and men to unite the poor and the rich to make those who believed they were more than another man repent for the sins they had committed. The man always had an unorthodox way of figuring his way around people, he knew what they were and what they are and often laid them bare. He had struggled to do that with Vakhanor.

"The successor of the Burhan estate," he smiled with a twinge of pride in his eyes.

Elyna... Beastial ferocity entered Vakhanor's expression, "I will take her charge."

The pastor took a few steps back and watched the smith with caution "You have never taken to hurting women. She's pregnant too, do you intend to hurt the unborn child?"

"No," the smith uttered carefully placing his tools onto the workbench "Who do you take me for, priest?"

"A man who has the potential of a demon," uncertainty rung through Gilwyn's words as Vakh began to laugh, it was a good joke. Taking a deep breath the smith lent against the bench top and let the laughter subside, his best friend was in danger. Pivoting around to meet the priests eyes Vakhanor raised his arms in celebration "Come, let's rejoice!" he exclaimed, approaching the priest with open arms "Just as you said, the people will pay for their crimes. Where is she?"

Gilwyn's shoulder relaxed "The girl is in the basement. Torture her but don't hurt the child," the man's eyes were bright with hope "I am glad you are with us smith, you are a good man."

If only you knew, Vakh thought watching the pastor with a wide smile "Thank you father," the smith uttered, placing his palms either side of the priest's face "...people really need to stop telling me that." Crack, the smith tightened his grip and twisted the man's neck, watching the body fall limp onto the floor.

Time was of the essence and with Gilwyn dead Vakh could not linger for long, if anyone came in he would be in trouble. Rushing to gather tools that could help him, Vakhanor scrambled to steal a sheathed longsword, a workpouch and a lit candle. "One day I'll join you in the pit of Faldren priest," the smith sneered, tossing the candle onto his corpse as he rushed past, closing the door behind him.

Soon the fire would spread across the corpse's body and bring the whole house down with it, and in that chaos could save the pretty little idiot he called his friend. "Smith," a man garbed in a black linen shirt and brown breeches, with long messy brown hair addressed him as he turned the corner of the hallway "so you've finally come out of your cave... I always knew you liked the pretty ones."

"Down the stairs?" Vakhanor asked, ignoring the man's shit.

"Step right through," the little twat smirked, holding open the door "she's just asking for a good fuck."

Stone cold and silent Vakhanor snatched a torch from the stranger and stepped down into the stone cold basement, bracing himself for the challenges ahead. Down, down, down the light of the torch lit the corners of the room and against the wall, Elyna lie chained and beaten. "Burhan bitch," the vicious mockery of his voice echoed against the walls "you're mine."

[Elyna]

Rufus had laughed when Buck and the bruised guards had thrown Elyna towards him. Hands bound with ropes that cut into her wrists. He wouldn’t believe that she’d given them any trouble, despite the pair of broken noses and nasty black-eyes. Groggy and disorientated she’d been half-dragged and half-carried through what she thought were tunnels. As she’d come around, the woman had started to twist at her bonds once more. There were muffled voices from behind a door, was she lying on a carpet? Face pressed against thick fibres that smelt of smoke and old liquor. The room was spinning and twisting upside down. Had she been drinking? Her head pounded and her stomach fought to reject her dinner.
There was laughter and she pushed herself up from the floor. Blood seeped down her hands from her wrists. She seethed at the pain, air whistling through her teeth. Three men entered and she was jerked back to her feet, pulled by her arms and held tight. Rufus looked her over and she glared back at him. With a pounding head it was hard to focus on the man, but she was sure he owned a bar in town. Was that right. It was the wiry old man who held her still as a younger model circled, smoothing hand over her shirt and pulling it flush to her skin. It was then that the baby moved, kicking out and Elyna could have cried. She’d never felt it’s movements before. The woman stared straight ahead at the door, shivering in the frozen air as the younger man shook his head.
“She doesn’t look like a noble,” he shook his head.
“Heiress to Burhan,” Rufus insisted, “Recognise her from when she used to get rat-assed most nights.”
The younger man had red hair and more freckles than Elyna could count. Thin lips curled back in an almost permanent sneer. He was well dressed and curled his fingers around her chin. He pulled her face to the side to inspect her features.
“They said you’re a skyrider?” He grinned, “look like a scholar to me, you’re all soft.” His fingers skimmed without warning over her flesh.
Elyna twisted her arm free, lunging at the man with her arms moving in a sweep to strike the side of his head. The captors were quick to regain their grip and drag her back. The red-head wiped blood from his lip and grinned at her again.
“Just give me a sword,” the young woman smiled at him, “untie my hands and you’ll see.”
“No,” he sounded bored as he straightened his jacket and swung.
She tried to lift her shoulder, turning to duck the blow but was held tight. Her head rang with pain and the grip on her arms loosened.
“Not too much,” Rufus growled, “she’d be worth a decent ransom.”

***

She woke in bursts of pain. Curled up on a wooden bench, her arms wrapped around her head. Her wrists felt heavy and hard to lift. Lips cracked and swollen, she tested a break in the skin with her tongue and bared her teeth at the resulting pain. The room smelt damp, the sound of dripping water echoed between the walls. Tentative movements of her arms were rewarded with flashes of agony in her hands. Elyna could remember struggling against someone. Kicking out and dropping herself to her knees. Using her weight against the people that carried her. Was it a dream? Had it happened? Malcolm…where was he? The faint light from the mark on her forehead, lit the curve of metal around her wrists.
"Burhan bitch," the voice echoed against the walls "you're mine."
It was tempting to sink into the darkness. A vacant place that she’d discovered during the previous summer. Somewhere her mind could retreat whilst her body was caught. The dirty remnants of her torn shirt clinging to the bruises on her skin. Distance from the foul room beckoned but the woman forced herself up. Turning on the bench to face her new tormentor. Her hair in wild-disarray and bruises purpling the side of her face. Refusing to look directly at the light, she peered at the man side-long.
“Vakh?” She whispered and stood. Her bare feet weren’t bound, but the chains clanked as she stood making it hard to straighten. Her toes felt like blocks of ice on the dirty floor. Feet aching with the tiny cuts and grazes that she’d picked up from running across the driveway. Unable to advance much further she tried to face him, “Vakh they took Mal – you’ve got to go after them, you’ve got to save him!”

[Vakhanor]

Rushing forward Vakh silenced the skyrider with a hand covering her mouth, the fire would soon spread but if they were caught too soon the smith would not have time to get away once Elyna was released. “Shhhh,” the smith whispered, lowering his hand to wrap an arm around her waist to support her “one step at a time.”

In an attempt to grab her attention Vakh lifted her face and double checked that she wasn’t falling back into a coma “I’m going to pin your arms against the wall so I can break the chains around your wrist. You’re going to need to stay still,” Vakh explained slowly and quietly placing the torch in one of her hands “Take that and hold onto it firmly… I’m going to need you to scream as if you were in agony. If it’s not convincing I’m going to have to hurt you.”

Cautious of the man stood at the top of the stairwell Vakhanor affectionately placed a hand against her cheek, “Have you ever seen a demon when he’s angry little princess?” the words were loud and spat like venom from his mouth “Your family killed a man whom I considered a father.”

“…and yet we watch you live, happy and thriving.” A darker truth, the feelings that he bore against Oberyk’s death were still raw and rampant in his heart and despite having made up with Elyna, his hatred for her family still remained. Battling with his inner turmoil, Vakh dealt with the anger in the only way he knew how and seized Elyna, pinning her against the wall. Discomforted by the situation, Vakhanor instead of channelling his anger into rage chose the only other thing he knew what to do with it, to turn it into passion. He knew he was too close, too close for comfort as the steady rise of her breath lifted against his chest.

Footsteps began to move and quicken over the floorboards above, followed by the sound of shouting “Fire!” yelled the faint sound of a woman’s voice.

“We have to hurry,” Vakh gently laid his face against hers “…scream.” Breaking away from the temptation impulse lead to offer Vakhanor quickly redirected his attention to the chains, pinpointing the weakness of his creation in his head. Anything could shatter; you just needed to know where to hit it.

[Elyna]

The skyrider pulled back from the hand against her mouth, this was not a feeling she wanted to get used to. His arm wrapped around her and it steadied her shaking legs. Was he angry? Her chest ached as though he was angry with her, tight with fear and frustration, ready to fight against him – somehow. She stared at him, confused and tried to think past her fear and the doorway to the cellar. Not long ago, she’d been on the other side, watching her brother as he was interrogated.

Head bowed she gave a small nod, understanding her instructions. Screaming…that shouldn’t be too hard. The pit of darkness was seething once more. She’d hoped for a moment that it had lessened with her tears; but look where that had got her. At least now there was hope. Hope of freedom, and then finding Malcolm. How long had she been down here? A break? Two?

Vakh’s hand curled around her face and she flinched away. There was no mistaking the raw anger in his voice. The Smith wasn’t acting as he revealed his depth of feeling towards her noble heritage. Did he hate her? Did he hate her thriving life…did he despise her life for having Elsie in it? The thoughts were knocked out of her head as she was pushed back against the stonework. The breath squeezed from her lungs. She gasped for it, conscious of his hard chest and abdomen pressed hard against her. His skin was a furnace in the frozen room. Her clothes weren’t much to speak off. His breath rose and fell in time with her own, his face moved against her cheek and she closed her eyes. The woman nodded again.

She held her hands where he’d placed them. The torch gripped tight between them. Elyna kept her eyes closed though, she had to trust that the Smith knew what he was doing. The skyrider scrambled for a sense of calm, one that she usually found so easily, yet had evaded her when Buck and his men had appeared. They weren’t Marcus though, and as soon as she’d realised that Malcolm’s son was not among the attackers, she’d felt stronger. It had been too late to save the Mortalborn but she was calmer than she had been.

There was the sound of metal striking, a dull thud of shattering weight and the woman screamed. A shout of sheer angry frustration that dropped, to a genuine moan of pain. They had Malcolm. Her heart had been shattered by the Mortalborn so many times, she hadn’t known there could be fresh pain. With her wrists free, some of her adrenaline faded and the woman sagged for a moment, catching herself against the wall. She drew a breath and forced herself to look up at Vakhanor. Hope, there was still hope. She was a Skyrider, she could do this. On legs that had gone numb with the cold, she stumbled forward and into the Smith’s arms. Steadied herself between them and stood again.

“There’s a fire?” The words were hoarse. There was smoke seeping beneath the door. “Lead the way.” She curled her hand around his arm, scanning the darkness for any kind of weapon.

[Vakhanor]

Vakh cursed at the smoke looming beneath the door, soon the flame would be upon them and there would be very little place to run. “Take this,” he commanded, untying the spare sword he’d stolen from his belt buckle and passing it to her. A Skyrider without a weapon was about as useful as a blacksmith at an anvil; they were probably going to need her skill before long.

Thinking on his feet Vakh tore off a part of his undershirt “Take a deep breath and don’t breathe in the smoke,” he forced a piece of the makeshift rag into Elyna’s hands “don’t fight in the fire.” Going first Vakhanor took his own advice, covering his mouth with the rag before he opened the door into the burning house.

Red and orange flames danced across the dying timber, consuming everything in their path. Everywhere, the structure gradually began to crumble as parts of the ceiling crashed into the floorboards at the end of the hallway, blocking them from the door. Among his people to die by fire was an honourable death, one worthy of the god they worshiped, but Vakh was not ready to let Elyna get hurt.

In reckless abandon for his own health the smith set Elyna right and carefully helped lift her over and under the wood, occasionally risking the burn of his hands in the flame to create a path down the burning hallway toward a room that he knew had a window. Driven by his rage he could feel the adrenaline pumping to his veins as the smoke began getting into his lungs and he coughed, breaking down the door.

“Go!” he uttered, stumbling into the room and pointing at the window. The smith’s capacity to think straight was waning, he’d released most of his oxygen trying to help Elyna and he could feel his fingertips burn as the fire inside of him threatened to ignite. He fell back and dragged himself against a piece of unburnt furniture, looking up at her beautiful face one last time.

“Live and…” he started, the coughing increasing into a fit “find the man you love.”

He was ready to die.

[Elyna]

The weapon had a visible effect on the woman. Her back straightened and her grip curled, sure around the hilt of the blade. She tested the balance and it wasn’t bad. “Thank you,” her hand rested against the flat of his back as she turned before she accepted the cloth. She tied it as best she could around the bottom part of her face. It would have been better to soak it, but the only option was the bucket in the corner of the room, and she wasn’t sure it was all liquid.
They sped through the burning building. Shouts ranged outside, a bucket chain was being formed. First though, they had to get out. Up the stairs and into a maze. Blind in the smoke, she kept her grip on the back of Vakh’s shirt. Ducking beneath a flaming timber she hissed a breath of sympathy as he caught the edge of the fire with his hand. Perhaps it was the scenario, but he seemed stronger than an ox in those moments, pushing and pulling her through the crumbling terrain, like something out of a nightmare. Her lungs were burning by the time he pushed her forwards, into a room that was thick with smoke. She could see light beyond the towering flames and turned back to her friend.
He swayed, dropping down to a low chair and she saw the hope fading from his features. Oh no. Not this again. She wasn’t prepared to lose her friend to fire. The skyrider wasn’t prepared to lose him full stop. The woman scrambled through the room, breaking the window with her elbow. The shattered glass scattered to the ground beneath. Fresh air swept into the room and she returned to the Smith, her hands curled around his hand and she pulled, trying to tug him to his feet or drag him towards the air and escape. “Don’t you dare!” She growled at him, “I’m not going without you,” her breathe came in a wheeze and she bent double, chocking.
The woman had sworn never to do this again, but she was no more prepared to let him die than she had been before. “You will get out of this building, Vakhanor,” she ordered him, and stumbled, still trying to pull him free, “that is the truth.” Her voice sang with golden inflection. Her ability was in no way strong enough to coerce him, yet she hoped it had enough power to stir some kind of action, any.

[Vakhanor]

Flame encased his fingertips and in a time when he needed serenity Vakhanor could not breathe or meditate. “That… is the...truth,” he choked, laughing at the irony until the white of his eyes went up into his head and Elyna’s power took hold.

A servant to her will, Vakhanor’s body stood. Get out! The smith's consciousness screamed beneath the pull of magic that had been subdued into him. Elyna had broken her word to save his life, for what? So he could continue to wat her live her life and love another man while he watched on the sidelines as a homeless man? Shifting into a frenzied rage Vakh broke free of the control and smacked the woman across the face.

“Bitch,” he sneered, relishing in the sensation of the burning hell that surrounded them. Another piece of ceiling tell and scraped against the smiths face, blood trickeling from the cracks. Adrenaline pumed through his body and the euphoria of killing had sunk in. Taking one last stand against the fire, he locked his arms around Elyna to shelter her from impact and dove out the window.

Burnt, bruised and bleeding from shards of glass sticking into his skin Vakhanor used these final moments to make sure his friend was okay. If he was vicious to her, maybe she would not miss him. A world without Vakhanor Baelithar would be a better and safer place, and Elyna would no longer be bound to him by a memory of grief.

Tears filled the man’s eyes “I'm sorry…” he muttered, giving in to the heaviness that weighed down on his eyelids “...Elyna."

[Elyna]

The blow from her friend, in the depths of disaster came as a shock. Catching her off guard, she was thrown off balance by the unexpected force and staggered. Sparks flared behind her eyes, the room spinning, roaring with smoke and crimson fire. Her fingers pressed useless to her jaw, smoothing across the skin to her lip. Face pounding and chest tight with smoke the woman swayed. Someone was ringing a bell in her head. A sharp sound of warning as she stumbled forward. She felt the weight of arms wrapping around her body and the heavy push. Then they were falling.
Elyna floated, watching the stars appear in a midnight sky. A crowd came to the sound of falling glass. She choked on the frozen air as it burnt her mouth and tongue then sank through her lungs. There was a warm weight against her but the flagstones of the city street were cold. Thick clouds drifted into view, followed by concerned faces.
“Fetch blankets!” There was a shout and she groaned, the ringing flared up between her ears. Her wrists blazed with sudden agony and she shouted, trying to pull them close to her body and shield them. She was scooped up, dragged away from the outer edge of the building and laid down on a blanket. Elyna twisted, struggling to see through the disorientation and saw her friend being pulled away from the flames.
“Vakh?” She rolled against the hands that tried to hold her down, pushing them away.
“No miss, please stay we’re sending for the Doctor,”
She ignored them, and edged closer to her friend. Her cool hand pressed to his cheek, “Vakh!” The hammering pain in her body faded. Deft hands moved to his pulse, he was alive. Blood eased down his cheek from the latest burn. The woman bent over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed at him, “you don’t get to die, Smith. Not like this.”
There were rumours later of a woman, dressed in only a nightshirt, had found a sword on the street and started making demands. What was more remarkable, was the passing patrol of Knights from the Iron Hand had listened and carried out those orders. A wagon was bought to the side of the house and the tall red-haired man lifted onto the back before they were driven away.
The skyrider stared at the mansion as they approached, wagon wheels crunching over the gravel. Liam, a man she’d known some years before, exchanged glances between her and the man she crouched beside. His head pulled into her lap. She smoothed his hair back from his face. As the wagon stopped, Elyna climbed out of the back and marched up the stone steps without hesitation.
It was amazing how quickly the household was bought to life in the dead of the night. Vakhanor was carried in to a bedroom with pale blue walls and clean white sheets. Pavoo and Caelan made no disguise of their delight at Elyna’s appearance, as she had been reported missing following the attack on the farm house. She and Malcolm had failed to arrive at the Iron Hand the next day and their house had been scoured. Her mother set a robe around her shoulders as she knelt. Anna, the woman who usually looked after Elsie knelt beside her. They’d tried to send the skyrider away as they tended to the Smith’s wounds, but she refused. When she’d explained to her parents that he had saved her life and rescued her, they were eager to assist. Without a single word of argument as she explained that she would be staying beside her friend.

[Golem]

Rewards

Name:

Vakhanor

Knowledge:

Strength: Snapping a Neck
Acting: Remember True Anger to better Act
Endurance: Escaping through the Smoke of a Fire
Endurance: Ignoring the Heat of a Fire
Elyna: Broke her Promise

Loot:

N/A

Injuries:

As you mentioned- 3-4 Weeks for stitches. 1 large burn across your left shoulder and down your back, taking 4 weeks to heal. Until then it will pull and stretch as you move- something incredibly painful.

Fame:

Note: See in comments.

Story:

4/5

Collaboration:

5/5

Structure:

5/5

- - -

Name:

Elyna

Knowledge:

Rufus: Local Bartender
Meditation: Harder when in Pain
Endurance: Escaping through the Smoke of a Fire
Surgery: Finding a Pulse
Vakhanor: Saved you from the Fire

Loot:

+1 Good Quality Longsword

Injuries:

Split lip, 2 Trials to heal

Fame:

+2 For Saving Vakh

Story:

5/5

Collaboration:

5/5

Structure:

5/5

- - -

Comments:

Good story yet again.

Vakhanor- just noticed something here that may or may not have been present in your past threads- I’m not sure. It’s definitely not worth deducting a point, just something to keep in mind. Some of your sentences are a little too disjointed, and would be better served by either a semi colon in place of the comma, or by adding a word or two to tie the thoughts together.

For example, “Originally the Aukari paid no interest to the cause, Anarchy was a driving cause to the smith and whatever uprising he could ...”

Either turning it into “Originally the Aukari paid no interest to the cause; Anarchy was a driving cause to the smith and whatever uprising he could...” or "Originally the Aukari paid no interest to the cause, for Anarchy alone was a driving cause to the smith and whatever uprising he could...”

Unfortunately, I do have to take off a point for the realism and following your characters skills. The strength required to snap a neck in the way you’ve described is...well superhuman. Expert or Master strength and I might have let it slide, but you’re in competent still, so I unfortunately, need to deduct a point.

Finally, I just had a question. Has your cover been blown, or are you able to return to the alliance? If the former, you get -10 Fame. If not, you get +2 Fame for Saving Ely. Just let me know which one you’re planning on.

Elyna- just a minor comment about word usage. I only noticed it a few times, but its something to keep in mind when writing. For example, you said “The Smith wasn’t acting as he revealed his depth of feeling towards her noble heritage. Did he hate her? Did he hate her thriving life…did he despite her life for having Elsie in it?” In this case “spite” or “despise” would have both been correct, but despite doesn’t work in this case. Again, nothing deduction worthy.

It was a quick, action packed thread, and I liked seeing Vakh quit- it fits his character, and that’s something you do really well.

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM. Thank you!